


Coming Back Together

by Notmycatsname



Series: Coming Back Together [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Lie Low At Lupin's (Harry Potter), M/M, One Shot, POV Sirius Black, Post-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Trans Character, Trans Remus Lupin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26029312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notmycatsname/pseuds/Notmycatsname
Summary: "He relaxes into the seat now and turns towards Remus, taking in the changes of 15 years unabashedly now. There’s far too much grey in his hair and wrinkles on his face for his age but they suit him. So do the handful of tattoos on his ribs and upper arms of flowering plants, shapes, a line in a language he doesn’t recognize, all usually covered. There's more scarring covering his body but he wears them differently than he did. Remus is different now, but he’s more himself than Sirius has ever seen."
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Coming Back Together [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933969
Comments: 10
Kudos: 147





	Coming Back Together

The couch he’s sitting on could be the same one James helped Remus lug up the steep steps to his first shitty apartment well over a decade ago. Sirius remembers that one as a dull, stained maroon and the one he’s currently on is a faded olive green, but his jumbled mess of a memory has confused far more prominent differences before. But the upholstery is soft beneath him, and if it is the same one from the 70's, it’s certainly no worse for wear.

Everything in Remus’s house is like that. Old and worn but cared for. Nothing quite matches but everything comes together in a way that makes Sirius feel at home. The mug of tea Remus left on the coffee table before he went to bed looks like it was stolen from a chain restaurant but Sirius’s seems to be from a tourist attraction somewhere in eastern Europe. There’s an old floor lamp in the corner, topped with a dusty tasseled shade, while a lava lamp sits on a cluttered end table. 

Sirius has been at Remus’s house for a week now, warming up to human company again. Slow, stilted small talk has progressed to a familiar back-and-forth again. They spend their days together, Remus editing and proofreading texts while Sirius makes his way through the extensive collections of books, magazines, records, films that Remus had collected. Evenings see them eating dinner out on the crowded back porch, overflowing with different plants. Remus was a horrible cook when they last lived together but if the years have given him anything good, it appears to be the ability to throw together a casserole. Sirius had raised an eyebrow at the combination of rice and unidentifiable produce and questionable canned goods but Remus silenced him with a swat to his side and a hot bowl of food full of flavors he had long forgotten. 

They spend a few companionable hours together at night talking and reconnecting, once or twice with the help of some beer or whiskey, before Remus retires to his bedroom and Sirius settles himself on the couch, as he is now. The past week he’s been sleeping long and heavy and comfortably, better than he thought he ever would again. Not tonight, though. 

Sirius stares at Remus’s closed bedroom door and feels a long forgotten pull itching under his skin. It’s not sex that he wants, just closeness and quite company. He’s not sure sex is even on the table for him anymore, that he has it in him. But then again, he also thought he’d never enjoy a meal again or have human conversation or even get a good night’s sleep again, yet here he is. 

He’s standing before he can realize it, shuffling across the floor to stand outside the closed door, listening. He hears nothing. Sirius’s stomach is in knots and he’s so nervous for reasons he doesn’t even know. He doesn’t know what he wants to happen when he walks across the threshold, just more time together, more comfort. His hand is shaking as he goes to grip the cool knob. He shakes his head in an attempt to thwart this oddly consuming anxiety and pushes the door open. 

The door creaks on its hinges and Sirius stands there for a moment looking in. Remus is lounging on the window seat, head tipped back to rest on the glass. His eyes are already on him like he knew Sirius was there. He probably did. There’s a harsh odor in the room and it isn’t until Sirius sees the smoke drift from Remus’s parted lips that he remembers it’s the stench of pot. 

“You can come in,” Remus says and he shuffles a bit to bring his knees up to his chest, offering Sirius a place to sit. Sirius realizes he’s just been staring. He shakes himself back into his body and makes his way over to perch at the edge of the seat. 

“I just wanted - I…” Sirius doesn’t know what he’s trying to say and he can’t meet Remus’s eyes. He stares at his bare torso instead, at the now flat chest and the scars that adorn them, different than those on the rest of his body. He runs his hands through his hair and gestures with his head. “When’d you get that done?” He feels stupid as he asks this, like he’s referring to a haircut or a new sweater. Not like something Remus had loathed about himself as much as the scars from the wolf.

Remus, for his part, only chuckles around the joint, inhaling deeply and then humming in thought. “About 8 years ago,” he says around an exhale of smoke. “Spent ages saving up for it but I started sleeping with the daughter of some filthy rich businessman who shelled out the money for me like it was nothing.”

A laugh of surprise escapes Sirius before he can help it and he finally brings his gaze up to reach Remus’s eyes. They’re hazy and a touch bloodshot but full of mirth, and he can’t tell if he’s fucking with him or not. Remus offers the joint to Sirius and he takes it, inhaling deeply and he feels his eyes burn and he holds in a cough. The high hits him quickly after so many years without and he’s grateful for something to ease his wired mind. 

He relaxes into the seat now and turns towards Remus, taking in the changes of 15 years unabashedly now. There’s far too much grey in his hair and wrinkles on his face for his age but they suit him. So do the handful of tattoos on his ribs and upper arms of flowering plants, shapes, a line in a language he doesn’t recognize, all usually covered. There's more scarring covering his body but he wears them differently than he did. Remus is different now, but he’s more himself than Sirius has ever seen.

A light rain starts outside, tapping gently on the window and Sirius realizes he’s lost himself staring again, hung up in his thoughts. Remus is staring right back at him, a smile on his lips, and he offers the joint back to Sirius. Their fingers brush when he takes it and the high gives him a boldness he didn’t have just moments before. He leans forwards and grabs his hand, their knees knocking together. 

They sit like that for a while, until Remus reclines more and positions Sirius to lay against his chest. The rain falls outside and they watch it quietly, passing the joint back and forth until it burns Sirius’s fingers and Remus deposits it in a teacup next to his bed. Remus’s skin is so warm and soft beneath Sirius’s cheek and his body feels like lead but Remus manages to coax him into standing after a while and suddenly they’re laying nose to nose under a quilt on Remus’s bed. I love you, he thinks or maybe says. His brain is foggy and he’s not sure what he’s imagining or what is really happening. Remus is smiling at him and rubbing his thumb against the back of his hands. They’re coming back together again.

**Author's Note:**

> notmycatsname on tumblr


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